


Accidental

by periferal



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Death, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Musings on Death, Religion, Revenge, Romance, Tragedy, made up religious practice, spirituality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periferal/pseuds/periferal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> From dust we came, and to dust we must return </em>
  <br/>
  <em> Some say our aura is in the wind, </em>
  <br/>
  <em> While others say the dead watch over us. </em>
  <br/>
  <em> Yet others say they are the Grimm. </em>
  <br/>
  <em> A hunter's fate is to defend and die, </em>
  <br/>
  <em> But our deaths cannot be accidents. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>Something goes wrong during the JNPR vs. BRNZ fight. Jaune dies, of an attack that his aura should have protected him from. </p><p>How NPR copes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snap

**Author's Note:**

> HEED THE TAGS  
> This fic will contain major character death. And some violence. It will probably _be_ one of the most violent _of_ my fics, tbh.
> 
> It will also involve emotionally broken people. The ending will probably be happy, I would think. 
> 
> But that would be telling.

Death is something you are taught to expect, if you train to become a hunter. At least once a year, every teacher will sit down in front of their class and say, “You must know that half of you will not live long enough to see the age of thirty-five,” and sometimes, there are students in those classes who burst into tears, or their faces go hard as they desperately try not to think of that day where their aura fails them, and the monsters they train every day to defeat will win against them.

By the first break of the first year, most students who cannot live with this go home. But those are few- after all Beacon and the other Academies are not the place for initial training, at least not for the majority of the students. 

But the preparation for death the students are given speaks only of loss caused by the Grimm, of those brave people who died for the sake of saving a city or CCTS tower from hoards of Beowolves or a lone, unspeakably ancient, cruel and clever Goliath. There is no training for death at the hands of other people- because the purpose of a hunter is not to police the White Fang or any local gang of thieves, no their purpose is to fight the Grimm, monsters who cannot speak.

And certainly there is no training, not then, anyway, for what it means to lose someone to an event that could not be predicted. A hunter who goes out to fight the Grimm in the woods at night expects somewhat that she may die. A 17 year old boy fighting in a tournament meant to represent the peace uniting the kingdoms of Remnant does not. He does not expect death to come in the form of a too-hard throw by one of his rivals, his aura depleted and just unstable enough to fail him entirely as he hits the the shielding in front of the bleachers, at a speed that wouldn’t hurt someone with a functioning aura. But here, something’s gone wrong.

Even with a depleted aura, a hunter can get up. The bar goes empty at a point before it would actually be dangerous- it’s like a health bar in a game, it just means the aura’s gone. Jaune is supposed to get up and shake himself off, shrug in good natured irritation and go watch his team members trounce BRNZ from the sidelines. But he’s not doing that, he’s staying down, lying flat on the ground where he’s fallen after hitting the shielding at full-force. But students get knocked out in tournaments all the time, they’ll just leave him there and let the first-aid people on hand get him, take the boy off to the side for treatment after the match, even though his aura’s depleted completely it will fill up again, heal whatever headwound he’s incurred. He’s going to be fine. No one notices that he isn't going to be fine.

The match continues after a moment, ending up as a one on one brawl between Pyrrha and Roy, spear, shield and magnetism versus metal circular saws. It goes about as well as can be expected- the hunter finds himself lifted by his own metal weapons into the air, knocked about by the shield and falling, the little aura that he had left at the beginning of this final confrontation depleted entirely. Pyrrha has ended yet another fight with her aura bar nearly full- she’s not quite untouchable, but she is good, and it’s obvious that she’s going to be at least one of the two members of her team who will be moving forward. 

Roy has been knocked down, though not out, and he gets up, disappointed but still laughing, like anyone else who is “killed” in these matches are. While his equally ‘dead’ teammates surround him, (Mey’s crush on Pyrrha is even bigger than it was after the other girl thoroughly thrashed her, to the total lack of surprise of any of her teammates), he makes his way off the pitch as Nora goes over to her fallen teammate. “Hey, Jaune, it’s time to wake up now,” she says. He doesn’t move. The first-aid workers make their way rapidly to the boy, and the one who arrives first and checks his pulse, a dark skinned bear faunus girl in uniform of a medical tech, takes his pulse with sure fingers and looks up, shocked. “There’s no pulse,” she says, and Nora just... halts. She’s been chattering at everyone, partially in an attempt to wake Jaune up and partially just because that’s what she does but when she hears the tech she goes utterly silent. 

“No,” she says, “Nope. Nope, not true, just... not true,” she continues to say, insisting, after she’s finished being quiet. 

A second medic has joined the first one, and they’re giving Jaune the examination they’d give an injured or fallen or even dead looking civilian, someone who doesn’t have control of their aura. It’s all wrong. 

“He’s dead,” the second medic says, “his neck snapped, possibly when he hit the barrier.” She sounds dumbfounded, and of course she would be. The whole nature of this tournament is to bring together the nations in peace- not to kill the next generation of hunters in their prime. That’s why there are controls in place for aura-levels and rules against certain kinds of attacks. But Roy was put out of the match in the same way as Jaune, and he’s standing with the rest of BRNZ, watching with a sad/silent sort of terror. 

Ren and Pyrrha shove their way through the small crowd that’s beginning to form around Jaune, Nora, and the two medics. “What's happened?” Pyrrha asks, looking mostly at the medics. Something’s gone cold inside her already, and she can guess what they’re about to say but still-

“He’s dead,” the first medic says, “I’m sorry, Miss Nikos.”

Students at Beacon are taught to expect death before they turn thirty. They are told with no minced words or room for uncertainty that to be a hunter is to watch your teammates die. To be a hunter is to lose partners and friends and found family.

But they are never taught that death can come even when they are meant to be safe, even when the adults are still there to protect them. Why would they be? Even though the Vityl festival pits high-powered teenagers armed with massive weapons against each other, there are safeguards. Aura itself is the biggest one, and so they are not taught how to protect themselves when aura fails. Because that’s a possibility no one wants to think about, and anyway, it never happens.

Lie Ren watches as they medics carry off what used to be his friend and team-leader, with the apparent purpose of doing an autopsy, or preparing it for transport back to his home kingdom. Ren goes through half a dozen potential scenarios in his head, and then, when he can’t think of any more he just watches. Nora buries her head in his side, clinging to him. She’s grabbed his coat, twisting the fabric to hold tighter. He can feel her fingers digging into his side.

He wants to fall over. Pyrrha is standing close to the two of them, hands curled tightly into fists. Ren imagines the feeling of fingernails cutting into the skin of her palms, and thinks of how tightly Nora is holding onto him. He wants there to be bruises later, but that probably won't happen. Such is the nature of aura. 

Or at least it should be. Jaune is dead.

Later, once the cold in his head has thawed a bit, and he can feel again, he will be angry. For now, he is numb, and as they make their way off the pitch, all three of them, along with the crowd, he is nothing but grateful for that numbness. 

Screams and fear can wake Grimm, or so he’s heard. Better to be numb until he’s somewhere safe.


	2. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _From dust we were once born,_   
>  _And to dust we shall return,_   
>  _Our auras in the wind._   
>  _But the Grimm are stalking still_   
>  _And my friend, we are not yet_   
>  _So dead as we will be_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _And so we can't forget,_  
>  _The promises and vows_  
>  _We made to guard, protect,_
> 
>  
> 
> _The lives of those who can't_  
>  _Protect themselves or fight,_  
>  _It is them for whom we stand,_  
>  _In vigil through the night._

The given explanation for Jaune’s death is that something glitched, something just went wrong in his aura and that it was it, folks, the story’s over and it was nothing more than a horrifying, tragic,  _ accident _ . 

The tournament is halted immediately for twenty-four hours, with the intent to give the Arc family time to come to Vale and to give those who loved Jaune time to mourn before the festivities begin again. 

His family arrives rapidly, the littlest of the sisters apparently not quite understanding what is going on. “Where is he?” Ren hears her say to another of the sisters.  “Why hasn’t he come to say hello to us?”

“His aura’s on the wind, now,” the sister replies, and Ren wishes he could leave, then. He’s known since Jaune mentioned them first that Jaune had siblings, but he doesn’t know if he should even be around them. He was family, maybe, but he was team-family. There’s a difference, one that he can’t quite put into the words he can barely say anyway, one that makes him think of burned out homes and corpses he would rather forget. He certainly won’t tell the little girl who wants her big brother that the aura on the wind explanation will end up being about as satisfying as any other explanation of where people go after they die.

But he can’t go, they’re all outside, waiting for the funeral to officially begin. They burn him, as is the specific tradition of his family. Of a lot of families, Ren thinks, though he doesn’t quite know what he would have been taught. Apparently it comes from the thought that maybe Grimm are the twisted remains of human who lived long ago, or something similar, though of course as with everything the actual origins of the practice have dissolved into myth and legend. 

But he can’t leave, even in the face of innocent questions he doesn't even have to answer. The body will be burned soon, the ashes scattered, and a name added to the family memorial. The wall at Beacon, too. Jaune will get a hero’s remembrance.

  
  


The fire is lit as the sun sets, and Pyrrha wants to scream. She, Ren and Nora are all in white, as is everyone else who is attending the service. 

The priest, whose gender Pyrrha doesn't know because their face is covered, speaks of man’s origin in dust and ashes, and how we must all return one day. They speak of a warrior’s honored place among the dead, and then say something in a language she vaguely recognizes. 

Weiss, who is standing nearer with the rest of RWBY, appears to understand what is being said.

Pyrrha wants to scream because, well. She’d assumed she would go first. Jaune is not as much of a fighter as she is, she knows that, and she assumed that she would be the first to die. That is the proper nature of things, the warrior sacrificing herself for her team and her friends. Not the leader dying pointlessly in an  _ accident _ .

“Accident,” they'd said, and she still can't quite believe it. Accidents like this just don't happen, they can't happen. How  _ could _ they happen, especially when the adults are there to watch over the students and keep them safe. 

She watches Ren and Nora, standing close to each other, but not touching, not like in the moment just after, when it had looked like they were trying to do... something, to each other. Hurt each other, maybe, which makes too much sense to Pyrrha, even now. She curls her hands into fists, feeling her fingernails bite into the soft skin of her palms. There will be little crescent-shaped marks when she loosens her hands, she knows, but for now it’s distracting. And that’s what matters, really, distraction. 

People are not Grimm- they do not disappear upon death, or so she was taught. Aura cannot disappear entirely, she is told, though it can leave the body, once the body no longer works. She wonders if Jaune’s aura is somewhere. Is he watching?

Can a bodiless aura do anything but wander?

Pyrrha is not sure whether or not she wishes to know the answer.

The pyre collapses as the dust-aided fire burns through the logs piled on top of Jaune’s body, sparks and smoke rising into the air. They’re in a clearing in the Emerald forest near Beacon, because it’s one of the safer(ish) parts of the non-urban surrounding of Vale. 

Ozpin and Qrow are here. Ozpin, Pyrrha understands, she assumes that a Headmaster would come to the funeral of his student. She wonders if she attends the services for those who die after their graduation, too, or if such events are so commonplace that he doesn’t bother. Qrow confuses her, however. She knows for a fact that Jaune never attended Signal, and despite the closeness between RWBY and JNPR, she didn’t even know what Qrow looked like until his sudden appearance only a little time ago. So why is he here, and why is he watching her with a strange almost-pity, instead of watching the fire like Ozpin is?

Part of her does not really want to know.

He’s drinking, openly, and sometimes he looks at her as though he’s looking at someone else entirely.

 

Nora wants to reach out and tangle her fingers with Ren’s, grip his hand tightly until it almost hurts. She wants to go over to Pyrrha and lean against her, or grab both their hands at once at stare at that, instead of the funeral pyre. She wants to hide Pyrrha from the man who’s watching her, and hide from Ozpin, who is staring at the burning pyre with what looks to be exhausted recognition. 

She believes in spirits, in a world with Grimm and aura how can she not? And she’s seen death, before, both she and Ren have, but those deaths were intended by someone. This one wasn’t, she knows that, she saw the blow that apparently killed him, she watched Pyrrha throw someone else in a similar way and he was fine. He was fine. 

Eventually, she grabs Ren’s hand. “Let’s go stand by Pyrrha,” she says, and he nods mutely. 

They go to stand by Pyrrha and she watches Ren grab Pyrrha’s hand. Their hands linked like so, she can almost imagine Jaune standing by Pyrrha on her other side, instead of lying all the way over there, probably already burned to ashes. 

Nora knows that Ren doesn’t believe in auras staying after. She gets that, and understands why he can’t- but she decided the day they found all those people gone forever that it would be better if she did believe, just in case. Just so, you know, if there are ghosts, they don’t get too lonely.

Now, she wants to believe in more, because it means that maybe Jaune is standing there, holding Pyrrha’s hand. It’s just that none of them can see him, because he’s just an aura now. That would be nice. It wouldn’t make her any less upset, but it would make her feel almost better to know that at least he was somewhere, instead of just blown away like the smoke she’s thankfully too far away to smell.

 

The sun sinks farther down beneath the horizon, and the gathered mourners prepare to leave, except those few who have chosen to remain in vigil over the corpse, for the usually ritualistic purpose of protecting it until it has burned entirely out. RWBY, Pyrrha, Nora, Ren and some of the adults have chosen to be part of those staying behind, and they position themselves in a loose circle around the pyre. Again, mostly tradition, but they are in the woods and although numbness does not bring Grimm, anger and fear and despair and grief do. Everyone, even the an untrained civilian living in the cities, who usually have nothing to fear, knows that.

Nobody speaks until Ruby says, “It doesn’t make sense!” suddenly, before hanging her head. She looks odd in white especially. Of course Weiss wears it naturally but the rest of RWBY look like ghosts or priests, or caregivers for the dead. 

The sky is dark blue, not quite black but there are stars beginning to appear and the moon is rising slowly, when Blake hears a growl off in the distance. She starts, wondering if any of the humans standing with her have heard it, too. Ozpin has looked up sharply, and she can hear the sound of Qrow unfolding his scythe, but the others are still just looking out into the distance, not entirely focused.

Another growl, closer this time, and she can see her team members hear it too. “Do you think there’s just one?” Ruby asks, and Qrow sounds for a second like he’s choking back either tears or laughter. Maybe both.

“No,” he says, “with this sort of event? There would never be just one.”

Despite the growls, however, the night passes quietly. The next morning, there is nothing left of the pyre but ashes, and Blake cannot be anything but concerned with the fact that there was no attack.

Perhaps there is an explanation beyond the Grimm being chaos in its purest form but she cannot think of one.

An image enters of her head of an all too familiar face attacking Yang, or Ruby, or Weiss. She shakes her head. That won't happen. It can't.


	3. Eye of History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note! This chapter was written by the very awesome [CuChulainn X19](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6103597/)  
> who sadly does not have an AO3 I can use to credit him with, but like. GO READ HIS STUFF IT IS GOOD.   
> The first part of the this chapter takes place during chapter 1.

“Oh, no! It looks like Jaune Arc’s taken a hard hit, and we have the first elimination of the match, by Aura depletion  _ and  _ knockout!” Peter booms into the microphone, as one of Beacon’s most curious students flies across the arena and into the protective barrier.

“Indeed! An unfortunate slip-up on Mr. Arc’s part, but it looks like his partner, Pyrrha Nikos, has not taken it well. If she were anyone else, this might be a good thing for Team BRNZ, but Miss Nikos has never been one to lose her cool, even when she… loses her cool,” Bartholomew follows up. His prediction comes true, and the match ends shortly after, when Beacon’s star student demolishes Roy Stallion with the most overt use of her Semblance Bart has ever seen. 

“And with that magnificent display of skill and strength, Pyrrha Nikos has won the match for Team JNPR!” Peter exults, but their eyes quickly focus on the still form lying below the combat stage. 

“Indeed, and a spectacular showing it was from Miss Nikos.” Bart nods. “But it seems like Jaune Arc has still not recovered from the blow that eliminated him from the match. Medical, is there a team en route?”

“Oh, that doesn’t look good. Seriously, could somebody go check on him? Where are the medical teams?”

The medical team finally appears, and Bart can tell by the way Nora Valykrie suddenly stills that something has gone seriously wrong. 

Peter can, too. “Uh, well, the medical team has reached the field, and we can’t tell what’s going on, but I have to admit it doesn’t look good.” He nods to Bart, who reaches for the kill switch. “Never in all my years have I seen anything like this. We’ll be back with you when we have more information.”

Bart kills the broadcast.

— — —

Pyrrha wanders the halls slowly, balanced precariously between two separate oblivions, one born of wrath, the other of despair. Part of her still can’t or won’t acknowledge that Jaune’s gone. Part of her wants to follow him, and part of her wants to find whoever was responsible—she knows someone was responsible, Jaune’s Aura was far too strong for something like this to happen by accident—and part of her just wants to tear Team BRNZ to pieces. And part of her wonders, equal parts confusion and rage, how something like this could be allowed to happen.

She doesn’t realize she’s walking past Professor Oobleck’s classroom until she hears a soft clinking noise from inside and realizes that the professor must be in there, although he’s left the door open and the lights are dim. She shudders momentarily as she remembers the day she first offered to train Jaune, making hand binoculars at her partner in a futile effort to remind him of faunus night vision. She turns and goes inside.

Bartholomew Oobleck stands behind his desk, looking, if possible, more disheveled than he ever appeared during lectures. His shirt is wholly untucked and stained with coffee, and his dirtied glasses can conceal neither the bags under his eyes nor the hollowness of the eyes themselves. He hears her enter and looks up.

“Miss Nikos,” he says. Not greets, says. She assumes it was intended as a greeting, but all inflection has gone out of his voice, and the man who always talked at a hundred miles a minute now pronounces syllables no faster than an ordinary person. The effect is stomach-twisting, and her confused rage dissipates as she realizes how hard her professor—Jaune’s former professor—has taken their loss.

“Professor Oobleck,” she returns, her own voice, to her shame, not nearly as deadened as his. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’ll just go—”

“No,” he forestalls her. “It is not you who need apologize, Miss Nikos. You came in here because you seek answers, did you not?”

She nods.

“I have sought answers, as well, although to no avail.” He sips his coffee, long and slow, and the contrast to his usual hyperactivity pains her again. He sighs deeply, and asks, “Miss Nikos, do you know why I became a teacher?”

“I—no.”

“To save lives.” He smiles wanly. “You may think it a strange choice, that I should forego using my skills in the field, where countless individuals are in need of saving at any given time, in order to labor in a classroom. But a single Huntsman can only do so much. By teaching you and your companions, and teaching you not only to fight, but how, and when, and why others have fought as well, I can do far more than I ever could fighting on my own.

“That was the theory, at least. I have always sought to learn from the mistakes of the past, believing that, while new errors may be inevitable, we could always avoid catastrophe by knowing which errors not to make again. What happened to Mr. Arc, however… he was not the best student at our academy, nor was he our finest warrior. But he had great potential, both as a Huntsman and, as I and my fellow teachers saw in your team, a fine friend. 

“Miss Nikos, I will not lie to you. Many, if not most, of the students who graduate from this academy will predecease me. Some will take on challenges too great for them to bear, either through arrogance or through necessity. Others will suffer consequences they could not have foreseen, and others will simply be careless. I and my colleagues send you out into the world to die for humanity, and when the time comes, I will make that sacrifice myself. 

“But no one, no one should die as a child. That is why Huntsmen and Huntresses exist, to prevent the loss of innocent life. I am well aware of Mr. Arc’s transgressions, but a child is a child, especially when they are possessed of such a heart as he was. And so I have combed through all my knowledge, through all the collected knowledge of Remnant’s history and legend, and I cannot on my life understand how I allowed this to happen.”

“Professor—” Pyrrha feels a current of guilt surge up inside her. If she’d only been more diligent, more demanding in training her partner, if only she’d gone to Ozpin and told him Jaune couldn’t possibly become a Huntsman when he told her he’d lied to get in, if only she’d been fast enough, strong enough to save him.

“No, Miss Nikos,” Oobleck interrupts her train of self-recrimination. “Whatever you are thinking, you are not to blame. You did, to my knowledge, everything that could be expected of a partner and more. I, on the other hand, have borne witness to the death of a student under my care. That is my responsibility, and I will not rest until I have answered.”

Pyrrha wants to respond, to tell him that no one could have seen this coming, that blaming himself will only make things worse. But the words won’t come, and before she can force them, the door swings wide open.

Ozpin is there, cane in one hand and mug in the other. He, too, looks tired. 

“Bartholomew,” he greets the disheveled man, his voice gone from tired to that of a man barely on his feet. “I’d like to see you in my office in a little while. There are things I think it’s beyond time I shared with you and Peter. Miss Nikos, I apologize for the timing, but recent events have forced our hand. If you would come with me, I have some explaining to do, and then I would like to make you an offer.”


	4. Truth

Pyrrha nods, and she falls in step with Ozpin as they leave Professor Oobleck’s office. As they walk, he considers what exactly he will tell her, and something else, too, which he hadn’t originally planned. It would anger Qrow, but that is nothing new, Qrow has never not been angry for nearly two decades, when he isn’t sad. 

“Miss Nikos,” he says, “I originally intended to converse with you alone, but would you rather your teammates be there with you?” He does not say “surviving” but the word is there, anyway, in the hesitation he does not have in his speech. Decades ago, perhaps, he would have stuttered, but now he is as calm as he ever is. 

It brings little comfort to Pyrrha, he can tell that easily. He watches her consider his question. She nods, eventually, and says, “Yes, I would like that. Whatever you wish to offer me, they should know too.”  
Ozpin wonders if she blames herself, still, for Jaune’s death. It would make sense if she does, he thinks, though it may complicate matters. He also does not wish for her to feel undue distress; at least, considering recent events. 

“I suggest we make a short detour through the dorms, then,” he says, and she nods again. “Would it be correct to assume your teammates would be there, as opposed to training?”

“Yes,” she says, and Ozpin adds ‘where else would they be’ to the answer. Or at least, it would make the most sense for her to think that, he is an authority figure who is by all appearances acting as though a tragedy has not occurred, or that if it has it is not important enough to dwell on for too long. Or perhaps she is comforted by his demeanor, he has been a poor judge of reaction in the past. 

They reach the room. Pyrrha opens the door. “Hey, Ozpin wants to talk to us,” she says, and Ozpin hears two pairs of subdued footsteps, and Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie appear. Neither of them look well, though they appear to have slept somewhat and changed out of the white clothes Ozpin last saw them in earlier at Jaune’s service. It is jarring to see Nora so incredibly still and quiet. 

 

What Ren really wants is to stay in his room and never leave, near Pyrrha and Nora and knowing that they’re there, that they’re not going anywhere. He also wants to watch Nora smash the people who make up BRNZ, maybe even help her in that task, even though he is pretty sure too that Jaune’s aura must have been tampered with, somehow, before the match. But despite that knowledge, it was still BRNZ who killed him, they were still the ones who threw Jaune against the barrier and killed him. 

That’s what he wants, in the same part of him that wanted to find the people who killed his village and tear them apart with his fingers. He never had the chance to, he and Nora never found them. That would have been too easy. What Ren does instead of any of those things is quietly follow Nora out of their room to join Pyrrha and Ozpin. He has a sinking feeling, which he mostly successfully ignores, that had Jaune been alive Ozpin would not have let him and Nora be here. 

The walk to Ozpin’s office is long, because it is silent. Ozpin is aware enough of how decency works that he does not try to strike up conversation, and Ren cannot think of any words, anyway. 

Qrow, the man Ren recognizes as Ruby’s uncle and from Jaune’s funeral, is there, standing by Ozpin’s desk with his arm crossed. He has leant his weapon against the desk, and appears to have been waiting for some time. There is a small flask of some sort of liquid, presumably of an alcoholic nature, sitting on the surface of the desk. Qrow looks tired, the dark stubble that looks to be more from neglect than intent not helping the look at all. 

“What are they doing here?” he asks, addressing Ozpin and ignoring Ren and Nora entirely. “I thought we agreed to only tell Pyrrha.”

“I believe,” Ozpin says quietly, “that it would be more prudent for Miss Nikos to have her friends by her side when she learns of this- the last few days have been difficult enough as is without forcing her to go through this alone.”

Dread settles, thick and hot, in Ren’s throat, and he and Nora share a nervous glance. What could Ozpin possibly be referring to? 

“Alright,” Qrow says, frowning. “But it’s your fault if they convince her not to do it.”

“Not do what?” Pyrrha asks. Ren sees her getting irritated, her fingers drumming against the side of her leg. She’s twitchier than she usually is, but then again he knows he’s stiller and Nora is quiet. Nothing is right at the moment; it makes sense she isn’t either.

“Have you heard of the maidens?” Ozpin asks. “The four maidens, each representing a season?”

Pyrrha nods but Ren shakes his head. Nora seems equally confused, and Ren wonders again what he has missed, what stories and legends his parents would have told them had they the time too. Perhaps he was even told it once, whatever this legend is, when he was younger, but now he can’t remember any of it if he was.  

Ozpin must notice his and Nora’s confusion, because he looks at Qrow, who shrugs, takes a deep looking drink from his flask, replaces it on the desk, and begins to speak. “So the legend is that there was once an old man, a hermit, really, who lived in a hut in the woods. He grew lonely with time, and bitter too, becoming increasingly disillusioned with the outside world,” Qrow sighs, considering, “I could give you the full version of the myth, with the various comings and goings, but to be brief each of the four maidens represent a season, and each showed the old hermit a seasonally appropriate kindness. In return for essentially restoring his faith in the goodness of people, or something, the old man gave the four maidens power, incredibly strong, near magical power.”

“That’s just a myth though,” Ren says, annoyed. This is like Jaune’s sister telling the little one that her brother’s aura on the wind. Pointless and meaningless. “Why are we here, then?”

“The point is that, whether or not the part with the old man is true, there are maidens. Four of them at any time, and each power is stronger than the best hunter in a trained host.”

Qrow is not the sort of person, Ren thinks, to bullshit, and Ozpin looks sad, not as though he’s trying to play a trick on some grieving students. “One of the powers got half-stolen,” Qrow continues, “you may know the lady who stole it, Cinder Fall, she’s been making a mess of things around here and is most likely responsible for your boyfriend dying so ignobly, Pyrrha.” Pyrrha starts, and Nora almost hisses, and Ozpin frowns. 

“I don’t mean anything but truth from that,” Qrow says, “and I have lost loved ones too, just-” Qrow pauses in his long spiel for a moment, bringing a hand up to his eyes. “Anyway, the power was stolen, Amber is dying and we think you, Pyrrha, would work well as a replacement maiden.”

“What?” Nora says, “how would that even work? Don’t these sorts of powers only go to the next host naturally after death?”

Ren stares at her, and she gives him a tiny smile, “they have a version of the myth in one of my comics,” she says, “or something like it.”

“Atlas is working on some new experimental technology,” Ozpin says. Qrow mutters something that sounds almost like ‘shockingly.’ It’s probably sarcasm. “Which,” Ozpin continues, staring intently at Qrow, who does not look away, “which potentially could allow for a transfer of aura between Amber, who is near death, and you, Pyrrha, bringing the power along with it.”

“Oh,” Pyrrha says. “Would this make me strong enough to kill the lady in red?”

“Yes,” Qrow says, “but it’s still heavily experimental and you might even get Amber’s personality somewhere inside you, we don’t know enough about what Atlas has discovered about Aura ye-”

“That doesn’t matter,” Pyrrha says, and there is a cold part to her voice that Ren recognizes in himself. Oh, so the cold part is still there, that’s where the grief and anger went. 

“We should break her legs,” Nora says, which makes Pyrrha give a tiny smile. “Are there others who are working with her?” she asks.

“Yes, though we don’t know their names yet,” Qrow says, “but we know their faces, and I’m fairly sure they’re around the Vityl festival. They may have even been truly responsible for Jaune’s ‘accident’.”

“Oh,” Pyrrha says. “So we have to find them first?”

“Yes,” Ozpin says. “So, Miss Nikos, do you agree to the transfer? And do you, Mr. Lie and Miss Valkyrie, have any questions or objections?”

Ren knows he should have some, or be worried, or wonder at the danger but the cold place and the dread are there together, and he wants the lady gone, and if Pyrrha is the one who can do that with the power than he is not going to stand in her way, or in the way of Ozpin and Qrow. Nora shakes her head. He is pretty sure she is feeling similarly to him. 

“If you are certain, meet me on the first floor by the main entrance once the festivities have restarted,” Ozpin says, “Which should be only in a short while.”

Pyrrha nods, and Ren watches Nora walk over and grab her hand. The two of them leave, and he follows them moments later. 

“What were you saying about them convincing her not to?” he hears Ozpin say, and Qrow, to Ren’s confusion, sighs, almost upset. 


	5. Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The transfer_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, sorry this isn't my best one, and for the long delay. Just wanted to get something up so this fic doesn't die.

Ironwood wishes sometimes that he did not know about the maidens. That he could spend his days focused entirely on the defense of not only Atlas but the other Kingdoms too, and not think too deeply about the mystical consequences of his choices. That Penny has not been discovered already is a miracle, and that is only because one of his technicians found the bug Cinder planted in his (his, not anyone else’s, his system failed) system.

“Are you ready?” Ironwood asks. The girl nods (she’s so young) and steps into what is essentially a modified version of suspension chamber Amber has been languishing in since her almost-death.

Her friends look strange. Not angry, really, just tired and expectant and excited. Nora Valkyrie is grinning almost, the first smile he has seen on her since they began this process. “Alright,” Ironwood says, “Ozpin, can you begin?”

He wishes often that the Grimm were not so highly attuned to fear. He wishes that weapons and airships in the sky made people feel as safe as it makes him feel, or that his system wasn’t so weak that apparently there are still places that bug he had found is still in some of the ships, they can’t get it out, and so it just sits there and he knows, he knows, that something bad will happen because of it, something related to the Grimm.

“This may hurt, though of course, I do not know,” Ozpin says, and Ironwood watches him flip the switch. Amber tenses, as they all see the aura moving through the tubes connecting the two pods. It’s the first movement he’s seen her make since Qrow found her, all those months ago. Pyrrha Nikos is baring her teeth against obvious pain, and the aura flows towards her. The process is slow, too slow, Ironwood wants it to move faster. There is a machine-hum, louder than the background hum of heating and electric lights.

He is not wise among people, that is certain, but he knows tactics, and if someone knows anything about their vulnerabilities or schedules or plans they would strike now, while they are waiting powerlessly for an outcome that may not exist. There is a chance, he knows, that Pyrrha Nikos will die, and he does not want to know what rage or emptiness or both would fill Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren if that were to happen.

It’s not so strange for the quiet boy to be well, quiet, but it is strange for him to have a sort of empty anger that Ironwood can recognize all too well from others.

Of course, Jaune Arc and Summer Rose have very little to do with each other, but Ironwood remembers wearing white at her funeral too, all those years ago. It was her color once, and Ironwood still remembers how strange and sad her teammates looked, not quite so young as the remains of JNPR but just as empty-angry.

The hum of the aura transfer mechanism dies down, and Amber convulses a final time and lies still. She is dead. Ironwood wishes they could have asked her before beginning the transfer but whatever it was that insect Qrow swears he saw Cinder Fall use did to her, she might as well have been dead anyway.

Ozpin walks over to the pod containing Pyrrha Nikos. It opens.

 

There is someone else in her head. Not Amber, which she sort of half expected when she stepped in, but what she immediately identifies as the power. It doesn’t speak to her, not quite, but she can feel a desperate longing to be whole again. But it does not consume her, this longing, she can ignore it, even as she feels the strength it gives her.

Her polarity is natural to her- it wasn’t, once, when her aura was first unlocked and she was young and she had not trained quite so much to be the untouchable girl- but now it is as another sense. It’s not as though she could lift him but she feels the dangerous idea of the fact that she could easily force General Ironwood into motion using only the metal limbs she is now distinctly aware he possesses.

She wants to be scared of all this power, but she isn’t, the fear is not there. There’s not a coldness exactly, she can still feel the grief and rage that led her to this, to this too-smooth transfer that has had so little drama that she expects the lady in red to come bursting through the walls at any moment, but there’s a hardness she does not remember from before the events of the past week, and a little numb part of her soul that she isn’t sure will get feeling back for a very, very long time.

She brings her hands up, watching the dark smudges she recognizes as the color of her aura play around her fingers.

There is still pain, little aches all over and, some in her chest, her head, her hands. The transfer itself was odd, it hurt, but mostly what she can’t stop thinking about is the feeling of pressure she had in her head. It had felt close to bursting, building and building until finally it stopped, and the pod had opened. She had stepped out, and now she is not entirely sure what she is supposed to say.

“There’s so much metal,” she says, sort of stupidly. She should ask _How_ ? or _What now_? but she can’t. There are so many things that she feels she can’t do right now, there is strength in her fingers but they feel as clumsy as a small child’s. There’s a buzzing in her head, not from the power, just from exhaustion, and tiny emotions muted by that cold place that is still there, heavy.

“Pyrrha,” Ren says. She switches her gaze to him. “Pyrrha!” he says, again, a little louder, and she realizes she’s staring at him- is her face moving?

She decides not to try and smile. She does say, “Sorry, I’m-”

“Are you in pain?” Ozpin asks, interrupting. Ironwood is gazing at her with something shaped like pity in his eyes.

This makes that little voice telling her that she could throw him, if she wanted to, all the louder. She does not listen.

“A little,” she says. As she speaks the ache moves, expands, and she- she staggers as the pain in her knees increases. It is now more similar to pressure than to burning, and she wonders if she’ll collapse.

She feels a hand on her back. “Ren?” she asks, he moves into her field of vision. “I think- can I rest, before I...” she looks for the word she wants to explain what she thinks they’d want her to do with these- skills, whatever they turn out to be, “before I experiment?”

“Of course,” Ozpin says.   
“Help me walk?” she asks, grabbing Ren around the shoulders.

The two of them make their slow way out of the chamber, Nora, still oddly subdued, following a few paces behind her.


	6. Just Rest, Please, For a While

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrha makes my heart hurt.   
> Sorry for so long on the update, hope you like this one.   
> Please, even if you don't have anything super long to say, review, it makes my day and generally is pretty great :)

“You should sleep,” Pyrrha says, “I’m going to the gymnasium, but you two should sleep, you have the couples bout tomorrow, right?” She had told Ozpin and Ironwood she would rest, and she wanted to, sort of, but the idea of actually trying to sleep made a sick, almost physical, worry well up in her and she no longer wanted to, not really. Maybe she should go to the gym, train, exhaust herself, get better for what she knows she will have to do. 

Not because anyone’s said, but because tiny pieces of feeling are climbing out of the numbness. 

“We’re not letting you experiment with whatever freaky magic you got from that girl by yourself,” Nora says, “right Ren?”

Ren nods. He puts his hand out and looks at Pyrrha significantly. She grabs his hand, and he tangles his fingers with hers. “Come on, then,” he says, and tugs, and he leads her towards the gym, Nora trailing behind. 

The gym is empty, which is surprising considering the tournament, but it is late, and so it doesn’t bother Pyrrha too much. Not that much can really bother her, since the transfer she’s noticed that little hard place growing, and she just wants to figure out how this power works and then use it, when she has a chance, to take what revenge she can. 

Where did that thought come from? Pyrrha frowns, troubled, and Nora, who has caught up to them, looks at her in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m angry again,” she says, “I didn’t expect that.”

“Makes sense.” Ren has a hard edge to his speaking Pyrrha recognizes.

“I think they should have made the break longer in the tournament,” Nora says, and Pyrrha notices with a start as she does that she can sense the metal in Nora’s hammer, more consciously than the general sense that has been in the back of her head since the transfer. She can feel it in the same detail that she can feel Milo and Akouo, in the same detail that she can sense the shape of Ren’s weapons up his sleeves and the metal of the light fixtures lighting the gym. The walls themselves are something else, same with the floor, but she can also feel the metal in the edges of the wide windows, the skeleton of the building too. She could tear it, maybe, though she senses that maybe with this weakened form of the power that would not work out quite so well.

The actual transfer itself had not been as jarring as she had expected- aura transfer, soul transfer, she had almost expected to find herself suddenly feeling the memories of Amber, the girl in the stasis-chamber, or to find herself no longer really her own person, but instead all that she had felt was an ache, and almost improvement to the skills she already has.

Now, there is the pain again, the aches in her knees and in her hands, the beginnings of a headache that ebbs and flows along with her heartbeat. 

She’s already in the gym so maybe she should try to train anyway, and since Ren and Nora are here they can fight her, too, instead of just training against a program or some of the dummies. She’s fought through aches before, though she was much younger the last time it was because of any injuries. Aches from training, aches just because today she ached, so it shouldn’t stop her this time, she cannot let it stop her this time. 

And yet, even as she thinks this, she feels her limbs, which she ought to have tight control over, grow heavy and slack, and she feels the headache increase, until it almost becomes hard to hear. Strange, that this is happening a while after the transfer, instead of as she left the pod, but she has to get through this, she must

 

Nora yelps as Pyrrha suddenly collapses like a cut-string puppet, and makes it just in time to sort of catch her friend and ease her gently to the ground. She can feel the beginnings of the same skittish fear that appeared when she saw Jaune just not getting up. She wants to immediately shake Pyrrha awake, prove already that she’s alive, that she isn’t dead, that this isn’t going to be the second time in two days that Nora’s lost a friend. 

But she can see her chest rising and falling, and Nora lets out a breath that she wasn’t aware she was holding. She hears the sigh of Ren doing the same. The two of them look at each other across her, unsure of what to do.

Neither of them speak. 

Interminable moments later Pyrrha’s eyes open, and she very slowly pushes herself to her feet. 

“You... you are going to go to bed,” Ren says on a second sharp exhale. Pyrrha rubs her eyes.

“That was unexpected,” she mutters, “I guess- the transfer was more draining after the fact than in the moment, I guess.”

“You think?” Nora wants to drag Pyrrha back to the dorm room right now and hide her, but that doesn’t sound like a particularly rational thought nor a very reasonable goal. But training is definitely a bad idea, not just for Pyrrha but for the two of them also. 

It’s not as though Nora has chosen to have her and Ren’s name come up in the listings for the couples’ bouts only a day after the twenty-four hour rest period given for mourning. 

If they do badly tomorrow, that’s understandable, and it doesn’t matter anyway. And they won’t do badly, even if they don’t train today, even if they just go to sleep and make sure Pyrrha doesn’t go anywhere. The paranoia that Nora has been feeling since she realized Jaune wasn’t breathing has only gotten worse now that she’s seen Pyrrha fall unconscious, too.

“I do need to figure out the extent of what I can do now,” Pyrrha says, but she sounds dubious. She winces again, rubbing at her solar plexus. “It’s like there’s a lack, here, almost.” She yawns, “Maybe it’s because the power’s incomplete.”

“I don’t care, you’re going to sleep,” Ren says, almost repeating himself. Pyrrha gives him a tired smile, which is definitely good. Tired smiles, even if they’re tiny tired smiles, are better than complete nothingness. Maybe it’s exhaustion that makes the grief retreat a little bit, but Nora can almost pretend for a few seconds as Ren begins to wordlessly lead the way back towards their dorm that Jaune just didn’t come with them to the gym because he wanted to read a comic.

The pretending doesn’t last, and Nora can feel herself droop as it fades. Not physically, really, that wouldn’t make any sense. Just inside her head there’s this sense of quiet that comes back to her. 

They arrive at their room and when they do, Pyrrha looks as though she’s just going to go to bed in her clothes. Nora can understand the feeling, but Ren hands Pyrrha a set of pajamas and pushes her in the direction of the bathroom. 

The three of them go through the ritual of preparing for sleep in silence. Nora, once she’s done changing, comes back to the bedroom to find Pyrrha staring fixedly at Jaune’s bed. “Hey,” Nora says, hugging her tightly from behind, “I don’t know if that’s such a good thing to look at.”

Nora is the perfect height to lean her head exactly into the back of Pyrrha’s neck, feeling her hair against her face. She resists the urge to chew on the other girl’s hair- it’s an odd thought, anyway, and weird and intimate and generally probably not okay. But it’s nice, holding her like this, arms around Pyrrha’s stomach. Pyrrha brings her hands up to cover Nora’s, and they hug like that for a few moments, Nora gently steering Pyrrha in the direction of her bed. 

Nora breaks away, and Pyrrha turns. She is smiling a little, a sort of faraway thing that makes Nora more worried than anything else, but it’s something, at least. “Good night,” she finally whispers, rolling herself under her covers. 

“Goodnight,” Nora replies, going over to her own bed. 

Ren shuts off the lights. 


	7. Little Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things accelerate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's taken... forever... for this to be updated.   
> Canon kind of ruined some of my plans, so I had to hastily rework some end-game stuff.

In the morning the haze of mourning has lifted somewhat, at least from those students who weren’t all that close to Jaune. It has now been two days since the accident, and the tournament is once again on. Weiss would much rather not think about it, and not attend it, but it’s Ren and Nora fighting. She really should be there, even if she’d rather just sit in her room, reading a book and not thinking about how much this reminds her of the people she lost as a small child.

And anyway, she, along with two of her teammates, apparently, wake up early despite the fact that the couple’s fight their friends are participating in is happening much later in the day. It must be fourth or fifth in the docket, and since none of them are fighting today, thank Oum, they could technically sleep in but it’s only seven and it seems the one person who is taking advantage of the extra time is Ruby, who is fast asleep. 

“I don’t think we should wake her,” Yang whispers, “she was having trouble sleeping last night.”

Blake nods. Weiss frowns, chewing at her bottom lip. Yang already seems to be dressed, and she’s looking at both Weiss and Blake significantly. “Come on guys,” she finally says, still in the same whisper as before, “let’s go be distracted!”

“What?” Weiss asks, “Distracted?” She tries to put her usual mild disdain into the question but she is apparently too tired to do so. “Fine,” she finally concedes, diligently ignoring the smile Yang gives Blake. “I need to get dressed though,” she says. She should be horrified at herself for grabbing clothing at random, but again, she is apparently too tired to care about the things she usually care about. 

She shuts the door to the bathroom and gives herself exactly five seconds to freak out, leaning against the door to the bathroom. (One) How could she have never noticed something was wrong, she had spoken to Jaune just before the battle, along with everyone else on JNPR. (Two) How were Nora, Pyrrha, Ren, those people, doing, is she supposed to talk to them more now, would that be weird? They’re Ruby’s friends. (Three) This isn’t okay, this isn’t okay this isn’t- she exhales, cutting her freakout short by two seconds. If she doesn’t do that, she thinks, she’s going to spend a lot more than five seconds. 

She pushes herself off the door and opens it, startling Yang and Blake who are giving each other significant concerned looks. Wonderful. “I’m fine,” Weiss announces, “as fine as the two of you.”

Yang nods, looking oddly thoughtful. “Blake and I decided a trip to that noodle place is in order,” she says, to a look of complete bewilderment from Blake. “Because again, we need a distraction.”

Weiss nods, and the three of them head out, leaving Ruby to sleep on. 

The temporary marketplace thrown up because of the tournament is quieter than it was on the first day of the Festival. Business is good, of course, this is a college town and hungry students have a tendency to pay for food, but there isn’t the energy there was, that first day. 

Of course, on day one, no one had died yet. 

Weiss hesitates with her hand on her purse, remembering that she is most likely still cut off. Yang smiles at her, and pays for the food they’ve selected. Noodles and a salad for Weiss, some kind of fried fish for Blake, and a worrying looking burger for Yang. “It’s okay, I’m not an heiress but I still can pay for food,” she says, and Weiss can’t help but smile back. She takes the noodles and salad. 

The three of them go sit at the counter at a nearby stall. “Something was messed up about... about the day before yesterday,” Yang declares as solemnly as she can with a mouthful of burger. Weiss feels something in her stomach twist painfully.

“I thought we were distracting ourselves,” Blake says. There’s a strong possibility that it’s out of the genuine desire to think of literally anything else. 

Yang nods. She’s done with her bite, and hasn’t picked up the burger again. She wipes her fingers on her skirt and a napkin, which makes Weiss wince just a little. “Yes, but it’s not working. I’m not distracted.”

“Jaune’s aura should’ve been stronger than that,” Weiss blurts, realizing that Yang is just thinking the thing that’s been nagging at the corner of her head since that fight. “Aura doesn’t suddenly tank like that unless something is seriously wrong.” At Blake’s odd look, Weiss squints at her. “The Schnee Dust company is very interested in studying aura, as well as dust.”

Blake nods dubiously. “Okay.” She frowns, “You’re right- do you know if aura can be tampered with?”

“Theoretically, yes.” The ease with which Weiss answers the question makes Yang flinch. “What? It’s similar to any other energy source, if internal to people.”

“Yeah but it’s still  _ aura _ .” 

Weiss does her best not to scowl at Yang. Her best isn’t very good, though she does manage to look condescending while doing so, which only makes Yang grin with sudden fondness. “Aura’s apparent sacredness didn’t save Jaune,” Weiss says, which makes Yang flinch again. 

Blake actually does scowl at Weiss, with the furrowed eyebrows and everything.

“Okay,” Yang says. “This distracting thing is failing. We’re going for a walk.” She gets up suddenly. There is a very determined look on her face. “Around Vale. Come on, there are stores. Or something. Maybe we’ll go to one of those weird comic book stores you like, Weiss.”

“They’re not weird, they’re  _ artistic _ ,” Weiss says. Blake laughs. That’s good. 

It’s about twenty minutes later when Weiss hears it. 

“Do you guys hear footsteps?” she asks, “Blake?”

Yang shakes her head, but Blake nods. Her attention now focuses on the noise, which is little more than a gentle tapping noise for Weiss. 

“From that ally,” she whispers, shrugging vaguely in the direction of a what looks like some combo of a noodle and pancake restaurant. Nora would like it. “Behind the shop, I mean.” 

The three girls look at each other, collectively deciding to continue walking instead of freezing. Freezing is just going to alert whoever’s nearby that they’ve noticed them, and maybe it’s nothing. It’s probably nothing, but Weiss lets her hand drift to Myrtenaster’s hilt anyway. 

This turns out to be a good instinct when Blake suddenly tenses. “It’s Adam,” she whispers. “I knew he was in the city but-”

Whatever else she might say is interrupted by a man asking from behind them, “The Schnee girl, really Blake?” in a tone that reminds Weiss, bizarrely enough, of Winter at her most condescending. “I knew you’d weakened, but  _ her _ ?” 

Weiss debates whether or not she should turn around. She knows she’s recognizable, so there’s way she can try to pass it off as mistaken identity, and the man- Adam, apparently- is addressing Blake, not her. The choice is made for her when Yang turns around, fists already clenched. “What are you talking about?” she demands.

This part of the city is relatively abandoned, as it is still somewhat early morning and people are either inside or are already at the festivities. Weiss turns, and realizes that Adam has appeared from where Blake heard the footsteps. He is flanked by two anonymous members of the White Fang. 

“Oh, and you are?” Adam asks, sneering. It’s almost impressive, just how haughty he can look even with the top half of his mask covered. 

“You know who I am, and you know I can beat your ass,” Yang retorts. Weiss can’t get a good look of her face, not at the awkward angle they’re all standing at in relation to each other, but she can imagine the red bleeding into her eyes. 

She really doesn’t want to get into a fight, not tonight, but this is Adam. Blake’s shitty ex-boyfriend or whatever he is. Weiss has had far more experience of her own with an unwanted past these past few days than she’d like, but at least she has a general confidence that neither Winter nor Father is going to try killing her any time soon. 

Blake has no such luck. 

“Oh, yes,” Adam says. He unsheathes his sword. On the motion, his two guards raise their guns. “Three little girls against three grown men, how do you think this is going to play out?”

“Yang, wait!” Blake calls, preempting what Weiss realizes would be a disastrous first strike. “Adam, what are you doing?”

“You’re getting in the way of my plan,” he says, “of our plan.”

“We haven’t done  _ anything _ this time,” Blake says. She does not sound anywhere near as desperate as Weiss feels she would if she were in Blake’s place. 

“You will,” Adam says, “you’re always fucking everything up, aren’t you Blake?” He’s pissed, and Weiss doesn’t want to know what his eyes look like. “Can’t you see what she’s going to do for us, for the White Fang?”  
“The White Fang was meant to gain us respect! If humans are afraid of us, it’s just going to be Menagerie all over again!” Blake has her hand on her weapon, but she hasn’t drawn it. 

Weiss moves so that she’s standing on the other side of Blake to Yang. Now, the two sides are facing each other exactly. She stares at the right goon, calculating how best to disarm him without taking any direct hits from his weapon. It’s not a dust model, which is good, but it still looks nasty enough to do some serious damage to her aura. 

“Does respect to you mean going so low as the Schnee girl?” That again. Weiss really wishes he would stop bringing that up. There’s enough pain there already. 

“What are you implying?” Yang demands. From here, Weiss can see her eyes. They’re entirely red, and her hands are shaking. 

“Oh you know,” Adam says, “I wonder,” he turns to look at Weiss directly. “What is it like to have a pet kitty cat?” 

Blakes eyes widen. Yang lunges at Adam, a sound that could almost be a growl tearing out of her throat. Adam is smiling as he dodges, using an ability worryingly similar to Ruby’s. 

Yang stumbles, but stays on her feet. She is now between the two guards, and both of them open fire on her. She brings up her gauntlets and the bullets ricochet off, and her eyes grow redder as they feed into her semblance. 

She knocks the first guard’s head back with a punch. He goes flying, and she turns to his companion. This guard brings his gun to try and block her somehow. She rips the weapon out of his hands and cracks him over the head with it. More kinetic force expended, another flying body. 

Adam has not moved in the seconds it takes for Yang to dispatch the guard. He is still smiling. 

Blake hears what could be the fluttering of wings. “What was--?” she begins, but Adam talks right over her.

“Oh, how nice,” he says. “Now, just let me--”   


“Stop!” Weiss says. She raises Myrtenaster. The goons are down, giving her a clear view of Adam. He turns to her.

“Seriously, Blake, you left me for--” he makes as though to run towards their little trio. Darkness swirls around him like Ruby’s roses. He does not get through his sentence. 

“I said,  _ stop _ .” With a noise like breaking glass, white glyphs appear under Adam’s feet. Blue ice crawls up his legs, chest, arms. His head remains unaffected. He strains against the ice, spitting. 

Qrow explodes of the darkness, stopping short of the downed guards. “Yang, are you all right?”

Yang’s eyes return to their normal color as she exhales, her hands still clenched tightly into fists. “He... he was talking,” she says, “and we weren’t even  _ doing _ anything, this time.” She stares at Adam. “I really should just punch you in the face,” she tells him. 

Adam struggles some more against the ice, baring his teeth at Yang. “You think you can  _ hurt _ me, little gi--”

Unnoticed by Weiss or Yang, Blake has closed the distance between herself and Adam. She punches him across the face with the dull. There’s no satisfying  _ thwack _ noise, but it’s still a little too nice to see his head snap to the side.  

It knocks him out. He might even get a black eye. 

“You have no  _ idea _ how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” she says. Weiss can see the ghost of a smile on her face. 

“At least that’s going to make him easier to transport,” Qrow says. Weiss isn’t sure whether he’s referring to Adam’s frozen state or what Blake just did. “Do you kids want to watch him and friends,” he gestures towards the two fallen White Fang foot soldiers, “while I call Professor Ozpin?”

“Sure,” Yang says for the three of them. She turns to look at Adam. “You know,” she says meditatively, “fuck you.”

Qrow returns, with faceless people who are on their side this time. The ice hasn’t melted. 

“How do you do that?” he asks Weiss. 

“Dust,” she says. “I suppose I was rather angry, too.”


End file.
